Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  The chill air gusted them with occasional diesel boat fumes and the smell of mossy waterline algae. They strode side by side until Markus stopped at their destination and slid a key into the lock on a security gate. She liked the look of the old brick archway rising above a lattice gate.

  “I like the Veronas…” He unlocked and opened the gate, and then selected another key from the ring to unlock the door within. “But I need more than their palace provides.” Standing to one side he said, “Ladies first.”

  Giselle stepped inside, and he locked the gate and door behind them. For weeks now, they’d existed in a woozy state of hunger that was rarely fed.

  “Good, he left the heat on,” Markus said as they took off their coats at the edge of a good-sized artist’s studio. They were finally alone. He slid his hands into her hair, and hungrily kissed her mouth. Losing herself in his kiss, she slid an arm out of one sleeve of her elastic body stocking and offered a naked breast to his seeking hand. He gently sucked on her lower lip and nibbled it as he inhaled her perfume. Pressing her body against his, she was ready to pounce on him right there in the entryway. It had only been a handful of weeks since she’d given her virginity to Markus, and now she felt cruelly deprived when she couldn’t get satisfaction with him.

  He led her up the narrow wooden stairs to a cozy loft overlooking a canal. The far side of the space had a little sleeping area under a bank of slanted windows that were mostly covered with peeling remnants of green paint that provided a bit of privacy. Markus lowered her onto the new mattress, the plastic still on it, and he deftly ripped it apart with two forceful tears. She kicked her boots off and rolled as he yanked the plastic away. She flexed and pointed her feet happily.

  As Markus undressed, he looked down at her and sighed, “You are the golden goddess they write the poems about.” While shimmying out of her festively patterned tights, she teased him with an infuriating view of her long legs and lack of underwear.

  “Why today no panties…” He gave his head a shake. “And other days you wear them?”

  “It depends on my outfit.” She threw her tights at him.

  “What are you wearing? It has two parts?”

  “A body stocking and a stocking dress.” Her stretchy dress still partially covered one breast. “Now, bring that sexy Ukrainian accent over here.”

  “As you wish.” He climbed onto the bed naked.

  Their kisses were soft, savoring the taste and smell of one another, pressing their bodies together, hands caressing. She felt at home in his arms, knew instinctively her first love would be her last and that soon she would be his wife. Markus was taking care not to unleash all his pent-up frustration on Giselle, so he focused on her delicious mouth. Their tongues swirling lightly against one another, he grazed the pillow of her lower lip with his teeth, while his thumbs teased her nipples. Their hands began to glide over each other’s bodies with more urgency, stroking, teasing, scratching.

  He moved partly on top of her, and she wrapped her legs around him so he could feel the heat of her excitement building. His mouth found her neck, kissing, and nibbling. She threw her head back and her breasts rose before him like gifts. Pulling the light fabric off the hidden one, he let his tongue trace her collarbone as he admired her rose-colored nipples. He took a hand and cupped it around the smallish perfection of one breast and grazed his knuckles over her other nipple, making her groan. Warmth fanned across her lower stomach and pooled in her groin.

  “We only need simple accommodations,” he growled. “Let us never leave here.”

  “Never?” she asked. “We might get hungry.”

  “I am hungry now.”

  He bent over her and trailed his kisses lower. Markus loved how natural Giselle was during sex. Her forthright enjoyment made her an ideal lover. There were no fake noises, no flailing or acting with her. He didn’t know who was teaching women to do that, but it was not exciting. He nipped her hipbone with his teeth, causing her stomach muscles to tighten. Kissing her thigh, he murmured, “No…hunger would not make me leave here.”

  He nuzzled his face up her stomach and then to her breasts as he climbed on top and buried himself inside her. He took his time rocking his hips, filling her up before withdrawing. She rested her feet on the backs of his calves and stroked his body as he took his time with her. When her release came, it sent him over the edge and he joined her with a roar of love and frustration and impatience and absolute worship.

  They spent the afternoon in bed, talking about their childhoods and plans for their life together. Ignoring the world outside, they napped for a bit, then played silly word association games. They ended up with Markus reclining and Giselle straddling his lap slowly riding him until she fell forward hugging him, limp and shuddering.

  They both wondered the same thing as they walked back to the palazzo to get dressed for dinner. When would Vincenzo come out so they could be together?

  Raphielli looked up from Salvio’s computer when Dante announced Vincenzo and Leonardo.

  “Are you ready for us?” Vincenzo asked with a grin.

  “Ready! Come make yourself at home,” she said.

  “Notice anything different?” he asked raising both arms.

  “No cast!”

  “I’m good as new,” He said as he looked around the room. “I haven’t been here since Salvio’s father was alive. Looks like nothing’s changed, except it’s dark in here.

  “Salvio liked it that way. I guess I got used to it. I should open the drapes and the shades, shouldn’t I?”

  “Absolutely, get on that, girl.” Vincenzo’s tone was kidding as he walked over to the window, opened the heavy curtains, and pulled the cord to raise the Roman shade. “You don’t mind if I open the sash too, do you? Let some fresh air in?”

  “No, not at all. I’ll sit by the fire, and I’ve got a sweater.” She pointed to her cardigan on the sofa.

  “Vincenzo’s a fresh-air devotee,” Leonardo said. “His upstairs hallway in the palazzo is always cold, don’t be surprised when he’s got a fire roaring and snow blowing in.”

  “I can’t imagine it getting any colder in this old place, and the rooms could use some airing out.”

  “So, you’re looking to put the Scortini estate to work?” Vincenzo asked.

  “Sì.”

  “Do you have any charities or causes in mind?”

  “I’m embarrassed to say, that I don’t.”

  Vincenzo propped a hip on the corner of the desk. “Don’t be embarrassed. Not many people have time to properly investigate worthy causes. Fortunately, Leonardo and I live and breathe global charity.”

  “I want to give ten million euros each to Petro’s and Reynaldo’s families as reparation—although it still feels like a hollow gesture.”

  At the mention of his late bodyguard who’d died trying to protect him, Vincenzo’s Adam's apple bobbed. “So nice of you to remember Petro. Certainly, we’ll take care of that for you. And I know you’re sensitive to the fact that all the builders are certain Salvio killed Reynaldo.”

  Raphielli offered the desk chair to Leonardo, who took a seat and peered at the computer screen. “I see you’ve got all the accounts noted here. And what are these?” he said to himself while opening some of the files she’d stacked. “Quarterly reports, excellent. We’ll see what kind of financial structures exist and what your liquidity is, then we’ll make some recommendations.”

  “Right,” Vincenzo said. “It’ll take a few minutes to get into the systems we need. Do you mind if I ask about your relationship with Salvio’s parents? Leonardo and I were very close to Salvatore, and we always suspected that Sal kept Salvio away from people because he was always in such a nasty mood. It was easier to just keep him off by himself. They kept him out of Venice altogether for most of his life.”

  “I liked my in-laws. They were nice. I wasn’t close to Salvatore, I spent more time with Gelsonima.”

  “What did you think when you first came to live here?” Vinc
enzo gestured vaguely to the surroundings.

  “I was in shock. My mama and nonna, came to the abbey, handed me a dress, and told me they were taking me to marry Salvio Scortini—whom I’d never met. I remember sitting between them in the boat staring as they pointed to this black marble palazzo and said, “That is your new home.” I thought they were joking, but realized they were serious when we stopped at the Scortini’s private dock. It was so dark and imposing. I didn’t like the look of it. Dante showed us to the formal reception salon, and I stood there in shock as the Dour Doublet cooed like a couple of turtledoves.”

  “Dour Doublet?” Leonardo looked puzzled.

  “That’s what I call my nonna and mama.” She explained guiltily. “Then Salvatore and Gelsonima came in, introduced themselves, and asked about my schooling. When Salvio finally made an entrance with the air of a crown prince, he ignored me, so Salvatore led me over to him. Salvio just stared at me.”

  “Yep. Reminds me of the first time I met him back when we were kids,” Vincenzo said. “He liked to intimidate people by refusing to say anything for an uncomfortable length of time.”

  “Only a petty person needs to intimidate others,” Leonardo said as he tapped away on keys and flipped papers.

  She recalled, “He made no movement at all, except I remember his nostrils flaring. I wanted to run away.”

  “He had some expressive nostrils.” Leonardo coughed out a laugh. “And unruly eyebrows.”

  She continued, “He never did really say much to me—not for the two years we were married.”

  Vincenzo reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m so sorry—being forced into an arranged marriage—to Salvio of all people…how awful.”

  “I get why you call your mother and nonna the Dour Doublet,” Leonardo said.

  The financial wunderkinds worked steadily for hours, Vincenzo wheeling and dealing on the phone in several languages, and Leonardo’s fingers flying over his laptop keyboard populating contracts, elaborate spreadsheets, and forms while he made calls to the heads of financial institutions and charities.

  She was surprised at how much they were able to accomplish. “It’s Sunday. How are you able to reach bankers, charity founders, and CEOs?”

  “For this kind of money? Are you kidding?” was Vincenzo’s reply.

  By the end of their meeting, they’d updated a good portion of the ancient Scortini holdings into a modern financial powerhouse. Vast reserves of cash were donated, and stagnant accounts diversified into stocks and bonds for ecologically sound companies. The properties and land were placed into Raphielli’s new trust to be loaned to charities. Her head was spinning, but Leonardo printed out everything on his mobile printer and slid the documents into folders he produced from his briefcase.

  “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

  “Don’t be silly. Mama considers you family…and so you are…sis.”

  She knew it was silly, but she felt a little heart-flutter at the idea of belonging to such a great family, sort of the way she felt with Alphonso and Zelph acting as big brothers. “Well, I must say, having two princes of finance for brothers is very handy. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “You need a good attorney,” Vincenzo said. “You need someone who can go toe-to-toe with anyone who tries to push you around. We’ll recommend a few you’ll like.”

  “Please do.” She didn’t like the thought of being sued by anyone.

  Leonardo said, “We’re thrilled to help. If every person who has your wealth did what you’re doing, the world would be a much better place.”

  “Sì. Raphielli, do you have any plans we can be thinking about before our next meeting?” Vincenzo asked.

  “I’d like to turn this palazzo into another shelter for battered women, just like Porto della Donne, but much bigger.” She watched them exchange looks. “Before you sell me short, I know I’d need a lot of help, but I could absolutely do it.”

  “We won’t sell you short. We’re behind you all the way,” Vincenzo said.

  Leonardo looked at her seriously but his voice was emotional. “You’ve done a lot of good today. You’ll have your bank cards in the morning.”

  Vincenzo said, “We’re pretty curious to see Porto della Donne. Can you give us a tour?”

  “I’d love to, but our policy is no men inside for a while.”

  “Makes sense,” he said.

  “But could you two walk me over there?”

  “Our pleasure.” Leonardo tipped an imaginary hat and they left together.

  Raphielli stuck close to them on the walk. She was sad she didn’t have a best friend like these two. They included her in their conversation, but she sensed their close bond and felt like a third wheel.

  Once inside the shelter, her spirits lifted to be back in the only place she felt she belonged. She went to the therapy room where Doctor Risinger was settling the women for therapy.

  “Ladies, please put your crafts away.” Knitting projects quickly disappeared into baskets. Raphielli didn’t know if sitting in on therapy sessions would help her recurring paranoia, but they were helping her get to know the ladies under her roof. Except Paloma, who sat silently locked inside her pain.

  After the session, Raphielli went to her office and started plowing through the time-sensitive items in her IN box. After calling Alphonso and telling the cousins to eat without her, she ate dinner at her desk. It was later than she realized when she finally called it a day. Not wanting to inconvenience anyone, she scurried alone through the dark calles, fighting bouts of anxiety that threatened to immobilize her. As she burst through her front door, she found the cousins were just leaving.

  “Why didn’t you call or text me to come get you?” Alphonso looked at her with concern. “Did you walk home by yourself?”

  She put on a brave face. “Yep. It wasn’t as much fun as walking with you, but I’m fine.”

  “Oh.” He looked like he didn’t believe her. “How’re you feeling?”

  “I hate to complain, so let’s just say I’m ready for my physical therapy.”

  “If your bed arrives in the morning, you’ll be ready to move into your new suite, right?”

  “Sì. I can’t wait. Since you two are leaving, I’m going to excuse myself to my gloomy old room now.” She let each of them give her a quick hug and then started the echoing trek through the halls beneath the Scortini portraits, wondering idly why none of them had bothered to smile for their artist.

  Giselle sat playing connect-the-dots with Markus in the game room. He was trying to ignore Vincenzo and Leonardo, who were playing a desultory game of chess nearby. Both couples were going through the motions but were hyper-aware of the other. The tension in the room was so thick, Giselle felt like she might start screaming at any moment. And yet, she knew her distress made everything so much worse. With the Pope, the count, and the contessa away for the evening—attending someone’s midnight blessing ceremony—the palazzo was quiet.

  She startled as the pocket doors slid open. It was Ivar and Yvania, they paused near the doorway, perceiving the crackling tension between the four of them. Yvania gave Ivar a pained look, and then her face changed to the look that told Giselle to be ready for anything. Yvania came into the room. “Hokay, young ones. I feel so much the pain…here.” She put her hand on her chest and looked earnestly into each of their faces. “And so now I must speak the opening, and we will all talk with our hearts. It is time for the courage and the freeing.”

  Giselle looked at Ivar for direction, but his expression was resigned. They both knew she couldn’t be deterred, so the little force of nature took the floor. Ivar slid the doors shut for privacy, crossed to a loveseat, and parked his walker nearby.

  Yvania looked at Vincenzo and Leonardo. “You boys are froze with the fear. No goot!” She threw her arms in front of her like an old-time evangelical preacher. “You are both homosexchul.” She said the last word with no force as if servants could be outside the door with cups to their ears
. Then she clasped her hands to her heart. “But you are the good Catholics.”

  Giselle was so uncomfortable she wanted to tell Yvania to butt out. Leonardo and Vincenzo stared at the little babushka, and Markus appeared to be bracing for whatever came next.

  Then Yvania flipped her pudgy hand up to Giselle. “You are not wife. Child, you are disguise for your best friend.”

  Giselle drew in a shaky breath. “Yvania, stop this. Don’t be unkind.”

  Vincenzo spoke up. “No, Gigi, she’s lancing the wound I haven’t been able to.”

  Leonardo sounded despondent. “No offense, I know you’re trying to help. But he’s a Verona, not just any Catholic. He’s born into the deepest aspects of the holy faith and his soul…” His words choked off and he surprised everyone when tears started and he cried with raw emotion, “…is so fucking pure! He’s literally born to be the glue that holds the Catholic Church together with his heart and soul. And I’ll lose my faith if the best man I’ve ever known, the only man I’ve ever loved, is rejected by everything he holds dear because of our love for each other.”

  Yvania looked unprepared for Leonardo to crumble, but she’d asked for honesty. She retreated over to Ivar and patted his knee, cueing him to speak up.

  He cleared his throat before speaking. “Yvania and I see the pain that Catholic laws have caused you. We believe the ultimate purpose of church doctrine should be to support spiritual growth and knit mankind together.”

  “Da,” Yvania agreed.

  “And I am proud to know each of you,” Ivar continued. “I think Catholic law should embrace all people equally.”

  Vincenzo sat looking ashamed.

  Ivar waved his hand to the group. “You have something important to do, and how you accomplish it is for you to decide. But,” he looked directly at Vincenzo, “very soon, young man, you must tell your parents and the Pope that your marriage to Giselle was never consummated and that Leonardo is your chosen partner.”

  Leonardo was crying freely now. Giselle brought him a box of tissues as Vincenzo moved his chair around the chess table to sit next to him.